


Glasses

by theheartoftheshadowcat



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander lives, F/M, Friendship, Love, duel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 11:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartoftheshadowcat/pseuds/theheartoftheshadowcat
Summary: Alexander awaits his death at Weehawken but forgot his glasses...





	Glasses

The sun was in his eyes, hot and blinding as he looked down at the spot his son stood when George Ecker had ended his life. Alexander felt his blood boil; the backdrop of New York city behind him a greyish silver shadow looming ominously in the distance, beckoning him calling to him. He waited. Aaron Burr would be coming soon seeking retribution for the wrong he believed had been done to him. Let him come. He did not care anymore. He had nothing left, his dreams, his legacy his ambitions, all gone. All Gone, nothing but dust beneath his feet; like the dirt of the rural New Jersey at Weehawken where he now stood. He heard the gravel rattle gently beneath his feet as he shifted from side to side and waited his opponent; the man who had at one time been his best friend.

Alexander could hear his second behind him, and began thinking of those who had been dragged into this along with him. Thinking of Nathaniel Pendleton behind him who was no doubt exhausted and just wanted to go home. He thought of the letter he had written to Eliza and left on the desk in their bedroom wishing he had written it better and knowing soon he will be out of time. He always wrote, always found writing was his only true escape. Always wrote his way out, wrote and wrote till time seemed to stop; delivered himself from the jaws of the Grim Reaper known as Poverty and the stupidity and ignorance of those in DC who would see the bastard immigrant thrown back to the hell from whence he came.

He looked at the ground again and his vivid imagination; the very one that had made him able to write such poetic verses for his dear Eliza all those years ago made him picture his son laying there. So innocent, never harmed a soul and a stupid schoolboy argument had taken him, taken him away from the mother who adored him the siblings who worshipped him and the father…who had failed him. Alexander hung his head as the realization hit him like a bullet, knocking the wind clean out of him and he felt himself shake and sob with a force that he had not felt since that day in the hospital when he had held his son close for the last time.

The image of that dark hair and those boyish features so twisted in pain and so innocent as he shook with fear while being rowed home-no- not home to his deathbed assaulted Alexander relentlessly. His beautiful, perfect son who played the piano, loved his mother and counted to keep calm. Had he been counting when he waited to fight? Had he counted to nine like his mother taught him before Ecker, a man who was so obsessed with destroying the scoundrels called Hamilton murdered an innocent boy who had aimed his pistol at the sky. Ecker was no man, he was a coward who had no honor, just like Aaron Burr. 

Burr…

The man who had ousted his father-in-law, the man who never had a clear view on any one subject or other, 'talk less, smile more' the man who had became more and more driven more and more power-hungry as the years went on. More the adversary and less the man he had damn-near worshipped as a teenage boy, the man who had made a special trip just to congratulate him on getting married. It made him feel ill as he thought of those times, the times where he and Burr would imagine Theo and Philip one day getting married. It brought a tear to his eye as he realized where this had lead them both to. He should never have endorsed Jefferson, never have gotten involved in the politics of the election. He was retired, out of power, held no office and no obligation, why oh why could he not have just shut his mouth?

Now His best friend was his worst enemy, the man who had opened his arms to the lonesome immigrant to allow him to be someone in the end. Burr who had been the older brother Alexander had never had, always trying to guide him in the right direction, warning him about the dangers of the razor-wire tongue swirling viciously in his mouth. He should have listened, talk less, never had written that damn pamphlet, humiliated Eliza that way. His dear sweet Elizabeth waiting for him to come home still wrapped up in her dreams and thinking he would come home to her before she awoke. Burr had warned him, told him over and over that he was too much of a hothead. Too much of a child when he was making the decisions of a grown man.

Alexander wept as he thought of the man waiting to kill him and he reached into his pocket and found to his horror that he had forgotten his glasses. Eliza had distracted him with her soft voice and gentle hand, the hands she had placed on her belly as if to tell him something, something…he froze. Eliza was expecting him at home and she was expecting, his wonderful perfect angel was pregnant, and he had so many children waiting for him at home. But he could not do it, he could not throw away his shot, his legacy…his pride…his son… he had to keep his good name. Had to for Philip, only 19…mind so young, not nearly as old as he thought. He had died for his father’s name, he had to avenge his own honor the honor his son had died for. His vision blurred with tears hot and salty, burning the jellied whites of his tired eyes as he heard Eliza’s voice, felt her arms wrapped around him that day in the garden when the pain of losing his firstborn, his favorite child was too much for him. He had told the boy, not young man, teenage boy, to throw away his shot and then…

Alexander felt his knees growing weak as he felt every ache and groan of his body. His kidneys burned, and he collapsed to his knees dropping the gun, and realizing how far-sighted he was, and he did not have his glasses. He could hardly see let alone shoot, he heard Burr’s voice, seemingly far away from him felt Nathaniel grabbing him by the arm trying to pull him to his feet but he did not want to get up, let Burr shoot him while he was down it did not matter anymore, He wanted his son, he wanted to hold Philip again hear him reciting some silly verse that he had written about the cat or the pigtails little Betsy wore in her dark hair… he wanted to die in that moment more than any other time in his life.

More than when he was ten and his father had abandoned him, more than when his mother had died more than when the hurricane destroyed his home. He wanted to die, wanted to be with his mother, his son and his father. No not his biological father, his real father. President Washington who had given him away at his wedding, been at the birth of nearly all his children called him son with all the paternal affection a man could possess, He needed Washington, needed his father’s deep calming voice to tell him that he was being foolish, that he should get up, he was better than this. He was his father’s right-hand man. He was Alexander Hamilton, the man who had stolen British canons, helped win the battle of Yorktown and the war.

He was the man that Washington had wished above all others was his son, he and Martha had become the mother and father that the orphan had always needed. But then, this was all his fault, Washington had left him at the mercy of Jefferson and Madison and Adams. Let them fire him, mock him and torment him. This was all his fault, all his fault and now this was where it had come to, he was on his knees awaiting the death that would soon become the last remnants of the legacy he had worked so hard to protect. Alexander shuddered and shook his head, he was out of time and he raised his eyes to the sky as a clear blue met his eyes.

He had created so many things, the coast guard, the New York post, he had done so many things that he knew he ought to be proud of and yet all he wanted to do was find relief. He dropped his gun, heard the thunk of the metal, heard footsteps approaching him and then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Alexander raised his tear-stained face to Burr’s and found no anger. Burr looked rather concerned as a matter of fact, almost loving as if he were again that disgruntled older brother who upon seeing his younger brother in such distress had forgotten their confrontation. He put his gun down and lifted Alex’s chin to make him consider his eyes.

“Alexander?” he asked, his voice was soft, seeming to have forgotten the duel in concern for his old friend.

“I’m sorry Aaron…” he sobbed meaning it.

Burr froze, having only heard his first name come out of the other man’s mouth once before in all their years of acquaintance. He was about to respond when Alexander in his true childish nature sobbed and hugged him. Burr was in such a state of shock that he did the only thing he could think of he hugged him back and realized he had relinquished the duel to him. Breathing a sigh of relief that he had forfeited and that he would not have to shoot him the other man made small circles on his would-be little brother’s back knowing how hard this apology must be for the proud soldier who had even been brave enough to call out the president on numerous occasions. But still, Burr was glad to hear it, because he was a pacifist, he hated to fight and could not truly believe that Alex had driven him to the point of doing something so dumb and immature as to challenge him to a duel. He did not usually become so angry, but his dreams were gone... dashed by the mouth of a man who just did not know how to shut up. 

Still the sorrow the pain he was in was real and Aaron Burr was struck with the gravity of it tugged at every last shred of humanity the other man had. Their seconds were standing back, confused and shocked at the sight before them as Burr held the other man. “Shh Alexander, it’s all right…” he told him.

“No,” he cried, “Philip, my son…Eliza...she just wanted me to come back to sleep…”

Burr smiled, thinking of his beloved Theodosia who had left him alone and her little Theo waiting for him to come home, he felt his anger leaving him as he looks at the man before him. This man had so many children, young children too, and, he, he still had had the woman he loved waiting for him at home- the lucky bastard- the mention of his son was torn from his heart and Burr found as angry as he was that he could not kill the man. After all the man had apologized, the first commandment had been met and besides he had worthier pursuits, he was the Vice President of the United States. Which, Burr thought with a smile, was further than Alexander was ever going to get, he pulled Alex to his feet, the man looked so tired, beaten and tortured by the world, a man who had lost everything he had ever worked for and Burr felt for the first time, no anger, no jealousy and no admiration. He felt, nothing but pity. 

Pity for a man who had once taken the world by storm, but the non-stop tidalwave, the hurricane of politics had finally stopped in his tracks, had settled down in life and been taken down by the one thing that could stop the whirling dervish that was Alexander Hamilton. He was tired, he was so very, very tired. She wanted him to sleep... Burr handed him back his gun and smiled nodding as he and Alex raised their hands in unison and fired into the blueness above them. The two men then embraced like the old friends they were, and Burr smiled gently.

“Come on Alexander, let’s go home.”


End file.
